Unfinished Business
by fangirlu
Summary: Joss learns that when it comes to John Reese, even something as simple as sparring can mean so much more.


**A/N:** This is my first POI story, which I wouldn't have had the nerve to post if it wasn't for the support of the wonderful ladies over at the POI Discussion Forum. So big thanks to PiscesChikk, carolinagirl919, SWWoman, jakela, MBooker, Bug Evans, wolfmusic218, Jossfan, HaroldWren and anyone else that I missed. Special thanks to PiscesChikk, whose insight helped make the finished product so much better than it started out.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing that's mine are my laptop and my imagination.

* * *

"Is that all you've got, Carter?"

Joss wanted to knock the smirk off of John Reese's beautiful face. Experience had taught her that the man knew how to work a nerve like no other, but this afternoon he was outdoing himself. She'd lost track of just how long they'd been holed up in the quiet, abandoned gym, beads of perspiration dotting her skin as he'd poked and prodded and jabbed at her psyche with deadly precision.

It wasn't as if she thought training with him would be a cakewalk—she wasn't that naïve—but what she _hadn't_ prepared herself for was his psychological mind games. And she should've known better.

She really should have.

He seemed to relish burrowing his way under her skin under the best of circumstances; it should've been a no-brainer that he'd work twice as hard when she'd all but volunteered for it.

Hands held up in front of her, tension coiling through her body, she pulled in a deep breath, ignoring the damp smell in the humid air as she did her best to shrug off his taunts.

She knew what he was trying to do. Knew that he was trying to distract her, to knock her off her stride, to goad her into making a mistake.

And, as usual, she was making it way too easy for him.

"What if it is?" she questioned, panting lightly, unable to resist. Her words were sprinkled with a bit more pepper than she'd intended, but he always seemed to bring that out in her. She hoped he wouldn't notice, but of course, that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

The man noticed everything.

"It's not," he said, appearing completely unfazed by her mounting irritation.

Though he was hardly trying to hide his amusement, he was still on alert, tracking her movements as carefully as she was tracking his. As certain as she was that he'd been taking it fairly easy on her, she knew he was as competitive as she was. And there was no way he was going to let her take him down because of a lapse in concentration on his part.

She also knew she shouldn't indulge his obvious attempts to rattle her, but again she couldn't help asking, "And you know this how?"

Although nothing else in his demeanor changed, a lazy smile curled up one side of his mouth. "Because I know _you_, Carter," he drawled, his words just as indolent as his smile. A small beat passed and then, just in case she hadn't quite gotten the point the first time, he added, "That's how."

And there it was. Spoken with zero hesitation and a mountain of brazen self-assurance. But, damn it, it had been true. Every single word of it.

Joss found that in this rare moment of vulnerability, feeling strangely exposed and open, the thought only served to piss her off.

"You only _think_ you know me," she retorted, chin raised in defiance. It wasn't the smartest comeback in her arsenal, but her mind had blanked on anything more substantive to say. The smart move would've been to just keep her mouth shut, but when it came to John her intellect always seemed to be on a permanent vacation.

His smile slid into a smirk. The self-satisfied gesture spoke volumes, telling her without words that not only did he know she was full of it, but he knew that _she_ knew it as well.

Jaw clenched, fists tightening, the urge to go on the attack—to knock that know-it-all smirk off his face for real this time—was so strong that her willpower folded like wet cardboard under the force of it.

Regardless of being fully aware that she was playing right into his hands, she lunged at him, years of training kicking in as she moved with fluid, anger-fueled grace across the dark-blue floor mat toward him.

It was over in a matter of seconds.

In the time that it took her to blink, she found herself lying flat on her back, staring up at the amorphous brown stains on the high, cracked ceiling. She was as impressed at how quickly John had deflected her attack as much as she was furious with herself for allowing him to get the upper hand in the first place.

If someone had asked her exactly what had happened, she wouldn't have been able to tell them. One second she was aiming for the solid wall of his chest, her intention to use a combination of her momentum and his surprise to take him down; the next she was seeing a blur of black in her peripheral vision as he expertly feinted and used her plan of attack against her.

It had been a foolish move, and she knew it. John was seldom taken by surprise by anyone or anything. The man had skills that made her police and military training look like child's play in comparison, but that knowledge hadn't stopped her common sense from abandoning her.

It wasn't like her.

Or rather, it _hadn't_ been like her until John Reese had charmed his way into her life.

She was an ex-soldier, a cop, the mother of a hormonal teenage boy. It should take much more than a few smirks and a cascade of smart-ass quips to put her on the defensive. But for reasons that still managed to elude her, when it came to this man, she couldn't seem to control her emotions.

Just what was it about him that made her forget that she had even a passing acquaintance with simple notions like logic and self-control? What made him so different that his very presence could make her lose herself in a bizarre combination of exasperation and affection and worry?

She'd known him for a couple of years now, had grown closer to him than she ever would've thought she'd allow, and she still hadn't been able to figure it out. She still didn't understand. And lately, she was beginning to wonder if she ever would.

Or if it even mattered anymore.

"You okay, Carter?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see John beside her, standing as close to her side as he could without it looking as if he was hovering. She turned her head and looked up at him, noting the look of concern he wasn't quite able to hide. As cold and unfeeling as he could sometimes seem—at least to the uninitiated—those remarkable eyes always gave him away. And right now, they were telegraphing his anxiety loud and clear.

Which was odd given that he was the reason they were spending this rainy Sunday afternoon squirreled away in this dump in the first place. He had to have known that she'd end up on her ass at his hands sooner or later.

In spite of her irrational desire to stay angry at herself for her completely avoidable screw up, she couldn't fight the small smile that tugged at her lips. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing with distaste as the floor mat peeled away from the dewy skin of her bare arms with sticky resistance.

"The only thing hurting right now is my pride," she admitted, impatiently sweeping away a tendril of dark hair that had escaped the confines of her disheveled ponytail and fallen across her eyes. She narrowed her eyes up at him suspiciously as a sudden thought occurred to her. "You know," she said slowly, "I'm starting to think you're not taking this all that seriously."

"Oh?" He folded his arms across his sleeveless black t-shirt, and she had to remind herself to keep her eyes on his face. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, we've been at this for a while now and that was my first trip to the floor. Add in the hits I was able to land on you earlier, and I'd say that you've been going easy on me."

Wordlessly he held out a hand, and as he pulled her to her feet she didn't miss the way that his gaze slid over her body. The movement had been done so efficiently, so quickly and smoothly, that if she hadn't seen the blatant male appreciation light up his eyes when she'd first arrived, she might have missed it.

Or just as easily dismissed it.

While the plain white tank top and fitted black work-out pants weren't especially revealing, it was obviously enough to snag—and keep—John's attention. He _was_ a man after all, so Joss supposed she couldn't blame him for looking.

Repeatedly.

And given that he seemed to enthusiastically appreciate the way she filled out her police uniform, it wasn't a stretch to think that her form-fitting work-out clothes wouldn't put him back on his heels a bit. Hell, she probably would've been insulted if they hadn't.

Peering at him through the black veil of her lashes, she saw his eyes take another quick journey down her body, almost as if he was afraid of getting caught. She didn't know what was going on with him lately, but she had to admit that she was rather enjoying it.

"Maybe you're just that good, Carter," he finally replied, his eyes once again firmly locked on her face, the hint of his signature smirk dancing around the edges of his mouth again.

Joss blinked at him, hoping like hell he wouldn't be able to use his mental ninja skills to figure out where her mind had just taken her. She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, I'm good all right, but we both know that you're a hell of a lot better. You probably know ten different ways to kill me using just your pinky."

John's neutral expression was a study in nonchalance. "Eleven. But who's counting?"

"I'm serious, John."

"So am I."

Joss sighed. The man was the king of deadpan, which could either amuse her or exasperate her depending on her mood or how many bullet-riddled bodies he'd left in his wake on any given day. After hours spent expending precious energy against an opponent twice her size however, exasperation was definitely winning out.

She was hot, she was tired and she was starting to get cranky.

She didn't bother to quash the frown she could feel turning down the corners of her mouth. "This whole thing was your idea, remember? When you suggested doing this, I was under the impression that you thought I could handle it. That you thought enough of my abilities not to dumb things down for me."

Thinking back on their week-old conversation, she was still taken aback at just how vehement he'd been on the subject. He'd called her out of the blue, insisting that she meet him at one of the many diners they frequented around town.

As he'd slid into the faux-leather booth across from her, she'd been struck by how tense he'd appeared. John had always been a bit on the intense side, but he'd been on a whole other level that day. His body had been as taut as a bow string, his face grim and drawn, but when she'd asked him what was wrong he'd skillfully sidestepped her question.

Instead, as the coffee they'd politely ordered sat untouched at their elbows, he'd launched into what had sounded like a carefully rehearsed speech. He'd been adamant that she allow him to show her a few specialized hand-to-hand techniques beyond anything she'd learned in the military or at the police academy.

In typical John Reese fashion, his pitch had been short and succinct. Almost taciturn. The intensity in his tone had practically dared her to deny him. And of course, though his high-handed attitude had tempted her to, she hadn't.

When had she ever denied him anything?

She'd sensed how important it was to him, so she hadn't bothered to waste either of their time with a refusal she knew she'd rescind anyway. She hadn't interrogated him or questioned his motives or teased him about his exasperating overprotective streak. She'd simply agreed.

The effect on his mood had been instantaneous. The tension had bled from his shoulders, the lines around his mouth had softened and he'd even managed to conjure up one of the patented teasing smirks that he seemed to reserve just for her.

But now here she was, exactly where he wanted her, and as ridiculous as she knew it was, she couldn't help feeling that he was humoring her.

"Is that what you think I've been doing?" His eyebrows dipped downward in an infinitesimal frown of his own. If she didn't know better, she'd swear she had offended him. He was so hard to read sometimes.

"Honestly, John, I'm not sure." She shrugged. "If I had to guess, I'd say you've been giving me easy outs." She waved with a vague gesture at the spot on the floor where she'd just been laying and quickly amended, "Mostly."

"Wrong, Carter. That,"—he tilted his head toward the mat—"was caused by a lapse in judgment. Any hit you got on me was earned. You're more than capable of knocking a grown man on his ass."

"Just not you. Like I said," she continued when his face betrayed his confusion. "I'm good, but you're…exceptional." She narrowed her eyes at him again before allowing a small smile to slip through. "And you know it."

He didn't bother to deny it. He was a man of few words and bowing to what they both knew would be false modesty wasn't his style. Instead, he seemed to choose the more practical route, preferring action to make his point for him.

"I've been observing you, Carter. Gauging your skills. Watching you move," he said, beginning to slowly circle to her right. All hints of teasing, of flippant amusement, were now gone. His sharp blue eyes were unwavering, looking for a weakness to exploit. And knowing him, he'd probably already spotted several.

Feeling wary and more than a little uneasy, Joss instinctively mirrored his movements, circling in the opposite direction, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. His sneakers were virtually soundless on the padded mat, and not for the first time that afternoon she was amazed that a man his size could be so terrifyingly silent. In his dark clothes, he looked like a large black panther, all sleek muscles and graceful deadly calm.

She now knew what prey must feel like—what _his_ prey must feel like—and she found it more than a little disconcerting.

"And?" she pressed when he didn't say anything more.

His eyes roved over her body again, but unlike before his gaze was strictly professional.

Assessing.

Watchful.

"Despite your admirable control, you have a tendency to let your emotions guide your actions, which in turn guide your reactions," he said in a low voice that somehow managed to sound both melodious and menacing at the same time. "You also telegraph your moves—I could see them coming from a mile away."

Her first reaction was a defensive denial, a nearly uncontrollable urge to refute everything he'd just said. The natural competitor in her demanded it, but she swallowed the temptation. For now, he was the one in control. He was the expert; she was simply here to listen and learn.

"Go on," she urged after she managed to unclench her teeth.

"Are you sure?" he asked, as usual, able to sense her displeasure.

"I can take a little constructive criticism, John."

"Far too often, you leap before you look," he continued in that same low tone, "and you have a bad habit of not always paying enough attention to your surroundings." He suddenly stopped and stared hard at her, his gaze almost accusatory. "I've told you before that you're damn good at what you do, Carter, but sometimes you scare the hell out of me."

Before she could stop herself, Joss reared back, his last statement completely flooring her. Bewildered, she opened her mouth to ask him what he'd meant, but she never got the chance.

Without warning, John stepped forward and threw several quick jabs. He'd moved so fast that for a moment she was rooted to the spot in shock. It was the first time he'd come at her full speed, and the sight was both frightening and beautiful to behold. Part of her wanted to just stand there and admire the poise in his controlled movements, the coiled power in the long lines of his lean body, but instinct and years of ingrained training caused her to react without conscious thought.

In a split-second decision that probably saved her from getting acquainted with the floor again, she stepped to one side, managing to block him with a forearm that felt the resulting shockwave all the way to her shoulder.

After that, she wisely opted to evade his swings rather than try to engage him directly. Ducking and dodging lithely on the balls of her feet, she mentally thanked her mother for making her take those dreaded ballet lessons for all those years as a kid.

Just when she was sure that John's size and speed were going to get the better of her, he stopped and pulled back. His eyes glinted with barely-disguised pride.

"Not bad, Carter."

"Thanks." Breathing hard, Joss could feel a small tired smile sneak its way onto her face. She dropped a knowing gaze to the large hands now dangling innocently at his sides. "You were pulling your punches a little, weren't you?"

"Does it matter?"

She thought about that for a moment before shaking her head. She'd just gone toe to toe with a Special Forces-trained, ex-CIA assassin and had managed to stay on her feet. Did it really matter if he'd tempered himself this time to avoid knocking her head off?

"No," she replied, "I suppose it doesn't."

He rewarded her with one of his rare, full, inhumanly gorgeous smiles. "Good answer."

* * *

It took another couple of hours before Joss felt completely comfortable engaging John directly instead of merely dodging his attacks. Once she stopped allowing herself to be intimidated by his substantial height and weight advantage, she finally felt she'd come into her own.

He showed her how to use every part of her body as a weapon. Taught her how to break bones, scramble brains and take on multiple opponents at once.

He pushed her hard, never letting up, never letting her _give_ up, revealing and exploiting her weaknesses one by one until he was satisfied that she was well on her way to conquering them.

Even with the sweat making her tank cling stubbornly to her torso and the fatigue nipping with relish at her heels, she was amazed by how great she felt. How in tune she was with this small contained world around her, where there was only her and John and the strong foundation that kept this untended old place from falling down around their heads.

She felt giddy. Exhilarated. High on the adrenaline pumping through her veins and the feeling of accomplishment boosting her ego.

She couldn't remember ever feeling so alive.

And throughout it all, she'd learned something important. Something she'd logically known, but sometimes tended to forget: John Reese was just a man. An extraordinary man to be sure, but one made of flesh and tissue and bone just like any other. Yes, his presence was huge and sometimes a bit overwhelming, but that didn't mean he couldn't be beaten. Or at least brought down to size every once in a while.

And just once, she wanted to be the one to do it.

Working hard to slow her breathing, to force the tension bunching her muscles to ease, Joss watched him with a hyper-vigilance he'd been drilling into her all afternoon.

The second he moved, she knew what was coming.

Taking one giant step forward, John was on her, his long arms outstretched, his hands aiming for her throat. She swiftly turned her body sideways, wrapping one hand around the wrist closest to her face before aiming a sharp blow to his stomach with the other.

Ignoring his grunt of surprise, she swung her arm up and brought her forearm down into the soft spot where his neck met his shoulder, using her momentum to her advantage this time. Giving him no time to recover, she turned toward him, raised her right leg and followed with a sharp kick to his thigh, pushing him backward off his feet at the same time.

Barely managing to rein in the cry of triumph she could feel clawing at the back of her throat, she toppled over with him not bothering to quell the mad grin she could feel spreading across her face.

"I did it!" she crowed happily between huffs as she looked down at him. "I finally managed to bring down the great John Reese."

"You did," he agreed, his eyes twinkling at her, "but there's just one problem."

Still flushed with excitement over the thrill of her victory, Joss was slow to make the connection. "Problem?"

An impish smile curved his lips. "You're not supposed to be down here with me."

As his words rearranged themselves into something that made sense, all she could manage was a slow, astonished blink.

Looking rather pleased with himself, John didn't say anything more. Instead, his gaze swept downward, beckoning hers to follow. Eyes wide, she looked down…and almost wished she hadn't. Her body went still, the breath in her lungs stuttering to a stop, and if she didn't know it was beyond the realm of possibility, she would've sworn that time had too. The air around them had grown eerily quiet, the ensuing silence so thick it was deafening.

Although their current position was inherently intimate—her legs straddling his sides, his hands lightly gripping her waist, only a few scant inches separating them—she was forced to admit that it wasn't nearly as weird as she thought it would be.

And in her estimation, it should strike her as at least a little bizarre. Because she and John didn't do this—they didn't touch this way. Or at least they hadn't until recently. Until whatever it was that was going on with him had made the impossible not so improbable anymore.

For his part, John looked content right where he was, tranquil, completely relaxed. He still hadn't relinquished his hold on her, and she got the distinct impression that if it was up to him, he'd be perfectly happy to lay here for the rest of his life.

She let a small sigh escape, wishing she could be as Zen about the whole thing as he was, but prudence dictated that at least one of them keep their heads.

Before she had a chance to change her mind, Joss clambered to her feet, but not before a telltale curl of lust reminded her that the damage had already been done. No matter what she tried to tell herself, what she felt at this moment wasn't student/teacher or vigilante/cop or any other platonic description that would easily fit inside a neat box.

It was thorny, and it was messy, and the fact that she was no longer fully in control of the situation terrified her.

They were sitting on a powder keg filled with the volatile mixture of years of pent-up emotions and the ghosts of past pain. One false move by either of them could result in an explosion she wasn't sure they were prepared for.

Schooling her face into the impenetrable mask that had fooled many an interrogation suspect but would likely not fool John, she began to step back then thought better of it. She refused to let a little physical attraction run her off like some unsuspecting teenager experiencing adult feelings for the first time.

In a callback to his earlier gallantry, she held out a hand to him. Without hesitating, he grabbed it and she pulled hard, planting her feet to keep herself from ending back up on the floor again. His palm was warm against hers, his grip strong yet gentle and again, she found herself enjoying his close proximity way more than she knew was smart.

"Thanks," he said, his eyes hinting at something that was just as complicated and chaotic as what she was currently feeling.

Wondering if he was even consciously aware of it, she dropped his hand. "Sure."

"You did great today, Carter."

"Good teacher."

"Better student."

She raised a dark, teasing brow. "Expecting me to deny it?"

"Nope."

"Good." Refusing to get lost in his eyes, Joss yanked her gaze away and refocused her attention on something much less distracting. She tilted her head toward the small black refrigerator squatting against the far wall. "Is there water in that thing?"

"Stocked it myself."

Before he'd even finished the sentence, she began to move in that direction, seizing on the opportunity to put some distance between them. She needed to breathe air that wasn't infused with John's natural masculine scent. Needed something in her field of vision that didn't include that smile, or those legs, or a pair of eyes so blue that the oceans themselves would be jealous.

Hell, at this point, even the peeling paint on the dingy walls was an alluring alternative. Anything to keep herself from dwelling on the fact that he was a man, and she was a woman, and they were very much alone.

She walked slowly, taking her time, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. The earlier syncopated pitter-patter of rain against the roof had turned into an enthusiastic percussion solo as the storm that the weatherman had been promising for two days now had finally come to pass.

Although she couldn't see the downpour through the black paint slathered across the oversized windows, she was struck by how cozy the atmosphere had suddenly become. How intimate.

To Joss, the presence of rain had always signified change. It washed away what came before it and paved the way for a new beginning. An afternoon shower could make the most mundane surroundings morph into something magical. It could turn the most depressing environments into something beautiful.

Even a derelict gym whose glory days were far behind it seemed a little less desperate and forlorn. The harsh fluorescent lighting seemed softer somehow; the scarred wood floor beneath her feet was no longer as dull and lifeless. The pipes hiding behind the thin walls, ticking and clanking and hissing a never-ending symphony, sounded almost musical in the pronounced late-afternoon quiet.

Such romantic-sounding notions amused her and with a hint of a smile she was glad he couldn't see, she refocused the blame from the weather to the man standing behind her.

The man she knew was still watching her.

She could feel the heat from his gaze scorching her back, and it took every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep herself aimed straight ahead. To stop herself from turning around and diving headfirst into…whatever this madness was.

So she kept on walking.

And reminded herself to breathe.

* * *

They were sitting side by side, the floor mat cool and firm beneath them, the sound of the storm serenading them as they drank their water in a companionable silence. John was sitting so close to her that she could feel the warmth from his body wrapping itself around her, cocooning her like her own living, breathing security blanket.

After she'd handed him his water and sank wearily to the ground, she'd expected him to sit across from her. But she hadn't been nearly as shocked as she should have when he'd folded himself down beside her and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Although she couldn't say why or how, she'd noticed over the past few months that things had subtly changed between them. Their interactions had become rife with unspoken sentiment. Personal space no longer existed. The stoic, rigid man she'd come to know so well had been replaced by someone who was laid-back and relaxed and bestowed her with his beautiful smiles on a much more frequent basis.

It was odd, but she liked it.

She liked it a lot.

Feeling the heavy weight of his stare, Joss turned her head toward him and sure enough, he was gazing intently at her. His expression was open, his eyes soft, and it struck her how different this man was than the one she'd met what seemed like a lifetime ago.

"What?" she asked, looking away and lifting her water bottle to her mouth.

"How's it been, Carter?"

She froze, fighting like hell not to cringe as she absorbed his question. She'd known he was going to ask sooner or later. Lately, he always did. If they were in the same vicinity for more than a few uninterrupted minutes at a time, he asked. And sometimes even when they weren't.

Since the day the shit had hit the fan and her life had spiraled out of control, she'd lost track of how many times he'd called her asking that very thing. Depending on their circumstances or her fluctuating mood, the way he posed the question often varied. But the path he took always lead them to the same inevitable place.

She'd be lying if she said that a small part of her didn't enjoy the fact that he cared enough to want to know the state of her well-being. It had been one of the things she'd missed the most during those awful few months after he'd gotten out of Rikers. After the bomb vest scare that still sometimes jolted her out of a sound sleep, sweating and shaking and itching to call him just to make sure he was okay.

It had been what he'd failed to do when she'd called him for help after Internal Affairs had nearly jammed up Fusco, and she'd had to dig up a year-old corpse with only a canine friend for support.

It had been what he'd failed to do after Cal had been gunned down by those goons in HR and her guilt and shame had threatened to crush her.

It had been what he'd failed to do when she'd been busted back down to a beat cop through no fault of her own.

His presence had been the one thing she'd needed from him the most, but through it all, John had been silent, distant, _gone._

And now, regardless of her countless internal lectures to let bygones be bygones, it was her turn. She couldn't help it. Whether he knew it or not, whether she wanted to admit it or not, their separation had hurt her. Deeply. Such a major stumble by him—no matter what the reason—couldn't be fixed with pretty words and playful banter.

Turning her head to meet his gaze head on, she gave him the same answer she always did. "It's been going fine, John," she said, then added in a bid to shake him, "How've _you_ been?"

She wanted to giggle like the proverbial schoolgirl when she saw that it worked, scoring herself a point for the bemused expression that had settled across his features.

"Same as always," he answered after a minute pause.

She could tell that he wasn't pleased by the sudden turn in the conversation or the fact that she'd chosen to evade his question.

Again.

"So," Joss said, taking a sip of her water, "what's the story with this place?" She swept the bottle in a long arc, encompassing the huge, vacant space.

John sighed quietly, clearly not wanting to let it go, but when he spoke, he merely said, "Not much of a story to tell. I needed a place for us to train, so I asked Finch to find one."

As his words sank in and their meaning became clear, Joss' mouth fell open in disbelief. "Wait—are you telling me that you had Finch buy you an old gym in Brooklyn for the sole purpose of training with me?"

"Didn't have to be in Brooklyn, but yes," he said with an air of understatement, as if asking his employer to buy him an expensive piece of real estate was an everyday occurrence.

She couldn't help but notice that the softness was back in his eyes. She'd been half-joking because really, she'd never thought he'd go _that_ far. But he had. And he'd done it for her. But why? Why was he doing all of this?

She could take care of herself. He had to know that. As many times as she'd saved his ass, there was no way he wasn't aware that she was perfectly capable of watching her back.

So what in the hell was going on here?

"Why, John?" The question was asked quietly, almost tentatively, and she silently cursed the betrayal of her earlier bravado. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at her uncharacteristic timidity, she pushed on, "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful, but…_why?_"

Judging by his hesitation, she got the feeling that he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He let the question hang in the air between them for a long, charged moment before his lips quirked just the tiniest bit and he said matter-of-factly, "Why not?"

The answer sounded innocuous enough, but Joss knew it wasn't that simple. When it came to her dealings with John, it never was. She sat still, soaking in his words, parsing what he'd just revealed to her without really saying much of anything.

She thought back to everything they'd been through together, from the moment she'd reached out to a dirty, bearded bum to right now, right at this exact moment. As she gazed ponderously at him, he gave it right back, looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in his world.

Feeling ridiculously pleased at the realization, she let herself fall into his eyes this time and saw admiration and respect mixed with something…_bigger._ Something broader than she could have ever imagined. Something he hadn't quite gotten a handle on because she knew that if he had, she wouldn't be seeing anything at all.

With a clarity she was embarrassed had taken her so long to figure out, it hit her. Today had really been all about John. His guilt. His fear. His desire to keep her safe even though she'd been shutting him out.

He'd already told her as much. Earlier, he'd confessed that she scared him sometimes, and though he hadn't elaborated, she now understood.

John would never admit it, but he'd _needed_ this. He'd needed to establish some level of control over a situation that had become uncontrollable.

She sympathized, because she'd been there already. Had tried that very thing on the top floor of a DOD facility, out of her mind with grief, ready and willing to meet her end with a good man who'd turned her life upside down in the most unexpected of ways.

Joss flashed him a wide, dimpled smile, letting him know in the most genuine way she knew how that she appreciated the effort. That she appreciated _him._

"Thank you," she said in a gentle voice.

"You're welcome."

They stared at each other in avid fascination, saying more without words than they'd ever say aloud. It was their way. It was one of the things that made their relationship so unique, so special.

Reeling herself in before they both fell further down the rabbit hole, she pushed herself to her feet. John followed suit, his eyes still on her, that look—the one he seemed unable to subdue around her anymore—still blanketing his face.

"I guess I'd better get going. Gotta pick up Taylor from my mom's and get dinner started pretty soon."

When one side of his mouth ticked up in understanding, she was tempted to invite him to join them. Fortunately, her common sense kicked in, and she held her tongue. As grateful as she was at the progress they'd made today, dinner with her son would be a step too far.

_Not yet,_ she thought as they gathered their things and she followed his loping gait down a dimly-lit hallway to the back door. _Soon, but not just yet._

The black, battered metal screeched in protest as John pushed the heavy fire door open. They paused, each contemplating the wet, gunmetal-tinted landscape beyond and the mad dash they'd have to make to their respective vehicles.

Tossing John an empathetic goodbye smile, Joss sighed with regret at the mere thought of what lay in store for her hair, took a deep breath and prepared to make a run for it. But before she could move, the warmth and pressure of a staying hand lightly gripped her forearm. She paused and looked up, her eyebrows climbing her forehead in query.

"Same time next week?" While his voice was as modulated as always, the hope in his eyes was blinking at her with all the subtlety of a neon sign. "I'll have this place cleaned up by then."

"Are you sure? Your schedule isn't exactly normal."

"I'll be here if you will."

"You know you can't make that promise."

"I'll be here."

"John…"

"Joss, _I'll be here._ You have my word."

He was standing so close to her that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that even in the near gloom shone a striking metallic-blue.

She considered his declaration, remembering the last time he'd said those words to her. She also remembered that he'd kept that promise.

He _always_ kept his promises.

Nodding, she dashed out under the curtain of falling rain, tossing a water-logged grin over her shoulder. "See you next week, John."


End file.
